


Stonesight

by SaltysScribbles



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: WHAT IF NEW FAMILY, What if Living Dad Though, What if Sappy Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltysScribbles/pseuds/SaltysScribbles
Summary: A short "What If" born of speculation on a certain Discord Server.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Thus far, Aloy has found that Plainsong has lived up to its name; the towns that she's passed have been full of music, dancing, and laughter, and the Utaru people themselves, welcoming. Lovers of stories and song all, from the elders to the children, and quick to gift her with food and supplies, when she's deigned to share her tales of daring delves and wild hunts. She's spent more nights within the boundaries of villages than camping in the plains around them, of late, gathering what data she can, and sharing stories in return.

So, when she reaches the edge of one of the massive grain fields surrounding the next village on the road north ("Stonesight," according to the sign her Focus had scanned at a crossroads some ways back,) in the purported direction of the ruins she's come here seeking, she can tell immediately that something is wrong.

"What's going on here?" she murmurs to her Strider, tilting back the edge of the woven grass hat currently perched atop her head for a closer look. "There's... no singing. Nothing. Not a sound at all."

Indeed, the farmers moving between the rows of maize, checking plants, plucking ears, and reaching down to pull weeds from the bases of the stalks, are all working in complete silence. None of the lively work songs that she's heard in the other villages. No calls of greeting, or exclamations of surprise at the sight of the tame machine, as it passes. A few of them turn wary eyes toward her, but quickly look away, when it becomes apparent that she's watching them, in return.

The village itself is little better; from the edge, to the well at its center, she's met with eerie quiet. The few Utaru who are out and about are equally sullen and silent, watching her from doorways or hurrying about their tasks with heads down beneath their own grass hats, faces hidden in the shadows of the brims.

And there's something else unsettling about the scene... something that she doesn't quite place until she's reached the well, in its spot at the center of town, and dismounted, one hand on her waterskin and the other on the rim of the bucket balanced on the well's edge.

"...where are all the children?"

"Gone."

Reflexively, Aloy's hand closes around the bucket, and she whirls toward the source of the voice, holding it out in a defensive stance. It doesn't seem to impress the speaker, a reedy man in Utaru garb, leaning against the doorframe of the house built nearest the well; jerking his chin sharply toward the bucket, the man gives her a piercing look.

"You'd best take your water and be on your way, outlander; we have no room for strangers within our borders this night. Especially not strangers who come in the company of machines."

As her mind flutters down out of its fight response, Aloy lowers her makeshift shield, setting it back on the well's edge, and shifting her attention to the man's dour face.

"What do you mean by 'gone?'"

The man's frown only intensifies at that, and he shakes his head.

"Taken. By other outlanders, such as yourself. But it's really not your concern. Fetch your hospitality-water, and be _on_ your _way_."

His attempt at dismissal falls on stubbornly persistent ears, and she takes a step forward, spreading her hands in a mollifying gesture.

"Maybe I can help. I'm a good tracker."

Again, the man shakes his head, this time, with a derisive snort to match.

"There's no trail to follow; it ends up the road a ways. Just... vanishes. Besides. Our best tracker has already set out to find them. And he's Nora; you can't beat a Nora when it comes to finding tracks."

Dryly, Aloy smirks, planting a hand on her hip and leaning casually back on her heel, so that she comes close to looking down her nose at him.

"Humor me; I was born in Nora Lands, too. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will find what he missed."

For a long moment, the man stares at her darkly, as though searching her face for some kind of catch or hidden motive. All he can come up with, though, after a moment or two of seeking for something that isn't there, is, "Why?"

Now, it's Aloy's turn to snort.

"They're _children_. Do I need another reason?"

A moment more of examination, and the Utaru sighs sharply, waving a hand toward the road on the well's other side as he whirls on his heel, and strides back into the shade of the house.

"Fine. Do as you wish. It isn't as though I can stop you. And I don't want you poking around any longer than you have to. The kidnappers went north. Take your water, look for your trail, and be on your way. Your next warning will be a back full of arrows, if you don't."

Rolling her eyes at his retreating back, she sets about filling her waterskins, thumbing on her Focus and making a quick sweep of the area surrounding the well as she does.

"Well. I don't see any footprints, human or otherwise. They must have had someone sweeping their trail behind them. But...

Sure enough, the interface zeroes in on a dark splotch in the dirt. One that's all too familiar to her, when she crouches to turn the earth aside and get a closer look at it.

"Thought so; metalburn residue. The kidnappers have corrupted machines with them."

When she raises her head, her Focus automatically seeks out the next point, spaced further down the road, and the next, after that. The trail veers away into the grassland about a mile down the road, the Focus highlighting a bent stalk of something that comes up as _Andropogon gerardi._  
It hardly matters for the moment; she's found her trail.

With a grim smile, Aloy seizes the cables surrounding the Strider's neck, and swings back up onto the machine's back, kicking it into motion, and turning its head in the direction of the sea of stalks to the north.

"All right; let's see what the Eclipse Remnant wants with a bunch of Utaru children. And... where they've taken them."


	2. Chapter 2

It takes her two full days of travel to reach the abandoned ruin where the Remnant has set up camp; the ruins of a Cauldron, blasted open by some kind of high-power explosive, and sunk into the side of one of the striped outcrops that rise straight from the earth as though dropped there. A pair of corrupted Watchers keeps guard outside, prowling in wide, overlapping circles around each other, pausing every now and then to examine suspicious patches of ground or grass.

Easy enough to take out with a few quick spear-thrusts as she makes her approach, hugging the rock wall, and peering through the shattered doorway, into the darkness below.

"OK. The location makes sense. But why children? Are they... using them as collateral? Trying to keep the locals away?"

It takes her the entire crawl, picking off Remnant troops one by one as she goes, to find the answer; the chassis of a massive machine, corroded by time and by exposure to the elements, is sprawled across the floor of the foundry at the Cauldron's base, surrounded by hastily-erected wooden scaffolding, dotted here and there with what sentries the group can spare. And climbing across its armored surface, bound to one another by lengths of chain, anchored to the floor, are roughly fifteen children, all of them dressed in the elaborately-woven garb of the Utaru.

Aloy's grip tightens on her bow at the sight, and she grinds her teeth together.

_Of course. Those little fingers and hands. They can fit right between the plates._

It's enough to make the battle _vindictively_ satisfying; forgoing stealth, she steps into the open, nocking three arrows on the string and declaring her intent by burying them in the head and neck of the sentry closest to the door. There's a mad scramble to respond, curses flying and arrows being fumbled out of quivers and set to bows.

Not nearly quickly enough... for every one they draw, she fires three. Dances around strikes thrown hastily in her direction, countering with precision that not a one of them can match. It's over all too soon, and she's ripping a set of keys from the belt of the man whose trappings mark him as the operation's commander, giving the body a push with her foot for good measure as she turns away from it.

The Focus, when she scans the fallen machine, turns up nothing. No name, no class, no functionality. Planting the speartip against the floor and taking a moment to catch her breath, she gives the construct a heated glare.

_Well... that's a little ominous. Glad this thing won't be getting up anytime soon. Or ever, hopefully._

With one last curl of the lip for good measure, she wrenches the spear out of the little divot, tucking it back into its sling, and turns her attention to the entire reason she's come.

In the midst of the fight, the group has clambered down the chassis to hide beneath the machine, huddled between its legs in a little group. At the sight of Aloy, they draw back, almost as a single unit, huddling together in the shadows, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. One of them, however, steps forward, spreading her arms across the space in front of the others and glaring defiantly at her, even though the quivering of her knees gives her fear away.

Despite the situation, Aloy raises an eyebrow, giving the child a lopsided little half-smile.

_Brave kid... I think I like this one._

"Hi. Are you in charge, here?" she asks, crouching to put her head at a level with the girl's. When the child gives her a wary nod, she holds out a hand, the key laid across her open palm.

"Great. Well, I'm here to get you all out. To take you home. Will you help me get everyone together, Miss In-Charge?"

The girl hesitates for only a moment before snatching the key from her hand. The other children crowd around her as she begins fitting it into locks, unwinding chain from little wrists and shepherding them out from under the machine chassis. Some of them avoid Aloy entirely, clustering around the edges of the room. Others, more boldly, approach, her, staring up at her with wide eyes. She's doing her best to smile, to keep her expression open and friendly, when something tugs at her skirt, and she whirls to find the little girl who'd declared herself to be the one in charge, one hand still latched onto the leather. The key is still clutched in her outstretched hand.

"I can't get them," she says, holding out her arms, and presenting the locks fitted through the loops of chain, "will you do it?"

Plucking the key from her fingertips with as much gentility as she can manage, Aloy nods, taking a knee beside her.

"Of course. What's your name?"

As the chains fall away, the girl rubs at her wrists, putting on a smile that's far too shy for the bold creature that she'd first presented herself as.

"Asra."

Holding out the key for her to take, again, Aloy nods.

"Asra... that's very nice. Mine is Aloy."

As she wraps her fingers around the prize, Asra's little smile widens.

"We both have an A! Papa says it's a good letter for a girl's name to start with. It helps her fly straight and true, like an arrow."

It's entirely too much information, volunteered far too quickly, but it's so endearing that she can't help but chuckle as she rises back to her feet.

"Your Papa sounds very wise. Is he back in the village, two days' march from here? To the south?"

"Stonesight!" one of the others pipes up, emboldened, perhaps, by the fact that Asra doesn't seem to have been devoured by the Scary Outlander, yet, "That's home!"

Little murmurs of agreement and excitement ripple through the crowd. Some of the more timid children even dare to take a few wary steps closer. Asra tugs at her again, insistently.

"It's where all of us live. You said you were gonna take us home, right?"

Despite her attempt to sound stern, there's a note of pleading in her little voice. Her grip on Aloy's skirt tightens, as if to hold her physically to her promise.

Her heart breaks a little bit at that, and she reaches out to rest a hand on the girl's head.

"Yeah. I am. We'll go back together. I'll keep you safe from machines along the way. Get you back safe to your parents, no matter what I have to do to make it happen."

The collective breath whooshes out of the room at that; children beam at each other, clutch hands, let out little exclamations of joy. It's catching, and, reaching down to give Asra's hand a little squeeze, she raises her voice.

"What do we think? Are we ready to go home?"

And the chorus of little cheers that she gets in answer warms her enough to make the entire messy detour worth it, a thousand times over.


	3. Chapter 3

On the second day of travel, the weather takes a turn for the worse, driving them into the mouth of a cave yawning out of the side of one of the rocky hills for shelter.

Asra, who seems to have deputized herself as Aloy's second-in-command, pats the last child on the shoulder as he darts in through the opening, giving Aloy a little nod.

"Everyone's here."

Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, she claps Asra on the shoulder in return.

"Good. I don't know how I'd have done any of this without you."

The little girl beams up at her, basking in praise that, as far as Aloy is concerned, is well-earned; wrangling a group of children who are giddy with relief and the prospect of seeing their parents again has been difficult enough without pounding rain to complicate things.

As Asra drifts away, checking on some of the younger children as she goes, Aloy thumbs on her Focus, making a quick sweep of the cavern. For the most part, it seems fairly standard; hewn from the same striped rock that the surrounding formations are made of, dripping with stalactites. In the far depths of the space, however, something... pulses, faintly, visible as a series of concentric rings.

_Hmm... a signal?_

Switching off the interface, she calls to Asra over her shoulder, keeping her eyes fixed on the spot where the signal had appeared in the Focus's view.

"Stay here. I'm going to look around a bit."

As she picks her way back through the maze of stalactites, the rubble covering the floor begins to change; shards of metal, rusted by time and the constant drip of water, mix in among the chips and chunks of stone, with ever-increasing frequency. By the time she reaches the metal archway set into the wall, and squeezes through the gap between the rough shards of metal still clinging to the frame, she's fairly sure that she knows exactly what it is she's found, here.

Sure enough, the circular chamber's architecture and decor are unmistakably pre-Zero Day. Even through the rain sheeting in through the hole in the ceiling above, she can see the glow of lights, still functioning after so many years and the shattered remains of furniture, scattered about. The center of the room yawns open, a deep pit punched through the floor and into the levels below by the fallen rocks of the collapsed ceiling, the remains of the slide descending into the darkness below.

The usual flutter of excitement over a new discovery kicks at Aloy's stomach, and she finds herself grinning, automatically at the thought of a new place to explore.

_An Old Ones ruin! Maybe even... the one I'm looking for?_

Reaching for her Focus, she takes another step forward, toward the breach.

A slight scuff is all the warning she gets.

But after so many close calls, ambushes, and desperate battles to the death, it's all the warning she needs.

Changing direction to seize her spear from its sling and whirling on her heels, she catches the incoming blow against the haft of the weapon. The force of it is still numbing, sending a jolt from wrist to shoulder, and it's only sheer determination that keeps the spear in her hands.

With all of the force she can muster, she shoves her attacker off, pulling back into a defensive position, spear at the ready, body going taut as a drawn bowstring. This time, when the blow comes, she twists aside, and lunges toward her attacker with one of her own. In the dim light and pouring rain, she can barely make out a broad-shouldered shape parrying the blow to the side, and then lashing out with a fist that she barely reels back and out of the way of.

She’s not so lucky with the second strike; the butt of the spear cracks into her cheekbone, and for a moment, she sees stars, shaking her head viciously. It’s sheer luck (or perhaps buried instinct) that spins her out of the way of the next blow. The rush of adrenaline at the near miss clears the fog from her head, and she gives it one final shake, redoubling her grip on the spear and taking her turn on the offensive.

Back and forth they rage, over fallen rock and splintered metal, trading blows, ducking and dodging, shoving and snarling at each other as they go. Whoever her opponent is, Aloy thinks, he's good. Better than most of the opponents she's faced over the course of her travels. It’s all she can do to keep from being skewered. In some cases, not enough; the spearblade finds its mark in her side. In the flesh of her left arm. Ghosting over the back of her right hand and wrist. But she feels her own weapon carve into her opponent, as well. Hears the low growls and grunts of pain with each blow she strikes.

But it’s not enough; for every inch she gains, he pushes her back, with a fresh flurry of blows. For every step he forces her back, she redoubles her efforts, forcing her to retreat. They’re locked in a stalemate, evenly matched. And she’s beginning to feel the strain of exhaustion in her arms and legs.

For a moment, they break apart, panting raggedly, eyeing one another warily through the haze of rain and shadow, circling like Scrappers in the small space between the door and the breach. Mantling her shoulders threateningly, Aloy makes a quick feint, pushing the haft of her weapon out in a rapid-fire jab. Her opponent, in turn, spins his own spear at his side in a tight flourish, bringing it up and around into a defensive position.

A flourish that's _breathtakingly_ familiar. For a split second, she hesitates.

It's all her opponent needs to seize the advantage. And the front of her tunic. His other hand, tossing aside his weapon, locks around her spear-arm in a vice-like grip, and he forces her back with a heave of the shoulders. Her heels skitter over the edge of the pit, and, as she scrambles instinctively for balance, struggling fruitlessly against his iron grip, her opponent leans in to hiss into her ear.

"I would tell you never to lay a hand on my child again. But... you won't have the _chance_ to do it."

Aloy's back goes ramrod straight at the sound of his voice.

Because it's a voice she _knows_ ; one that's nursed her through sickness, and encouraged her to push her limits, and then push them again. That's celebrated triumphs alongside her, comforted her when she's fallen short.

It's the voice of a ghost.

_Rost._

She can't think. Can't speak. Can barely breathe around the sudden tightness in her throat.

And in her moment of hesitation... he releases his grip.

And the blackness of the pit swallows her whole.


	4. Chapter 4

Asra is the last to arrive back home.

She wriggles out of his arms the moment he drops the curtain over the doorway, trotting for the back of the house, and the thick hanging separating it from the family's living area.

"Daddy!" she calls, drawing the curtain aside with little care for protocol, and rocketing through the opening into Sida’s workspace, "Daddy! I'm here!!!"

Fortunately, there are no patients in the infirmary; only her father, grinding away at a fresh batch of herbs in his mortar. At the sight of Asra tearing across the floor toward him, he drops the pestle wrapping his arms around her and whirling her through the air in a spin that ends with a close hug.

"Ah! Little blossom!! It's you!!!"

As Rost pushes through the curtains after her, his mate leans over their daughter's head to plant a kiss on his cheek, as well.

"You found them? Where..."

Sida trails off, taking in the run-down state of his clothing, and the hastily-tied bandages circling his left arm and shoulder.

"You're hurt! Sit down."

Asra pauses as well at the exclamation, brows drawing together in concern as she squirms around for a better look. The similarity of their expressions is endearing, and Rost can't help but smile at the paired looks of concern.

_Worrywarts, the pair of them._

Shaking his head, he reaches out with the good arm to ruffle Asra's hair.

"It's fine. I've endured far worse."

Sida, no doubt, knows it. But, as he sets their daughter back on the floor, he jabs a finger toward the nearest cot, stubbornness written in all the furrows in his brow.

"Sit. _Down_."

Rost knows better than to argue; raising his hands in defeat, letting out a light chuckle, he takes the indicated seat, teasing the knots out of his pauldron’s straps and letting it fall to the floor as he goes.

There’s no reasoning with his mate, after all, when his profession comes to the forefront. And he wouldn’t have it any other way; the healer's iron spine and commitment to his craft are some of the things that he loves most of all.

As he carefully cleans and salves the spear-cuts, Sida clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Who _gave_ you these wounds? They’re not small."

Rost flinches at that, and not at all because of the sting of the tincture being applied to the injuries; it’s the thing he _least_ wants to think about right now. But... honestly, it’s to be expected from Sida. Straight to the point, as always. In this case, a _barbed_ point.

Leaning forward, steepling his fingers in his lap, fights back the urge to sigh.

"She was... very skilled. About the right height to have been the outlander that the headman described... perhaps. It was dark. Hard to see."

Whether it’s the tension in his shoulders, something in his voice, or just intuition, after years of living together, his attempt to hide the turmoil that the question brings bubbling to the surface is not enough to throw Sida off the scent.

"You're _troubled_. Talk to me about it."

It’s almost enough to make him flinch again. There’s no hiding anything from that healer’s insight. No getting away from that dogged determination to fix a problem, once it became apparent.

"There was something about her... about the way she fought. It was.. like a word that sits at the tip of the tongue, refusing to come to mind."

Sida ties off the last of the bandages, hand lingering briefly on Rost’s shoulder. He covers it with one of his own, leaving it there atop his beloved’s for as long as he’s allowed to. 

For a moment, after Sida pulls away, gathering up his supplies and beginning to sort them into their proper places, he lingers, still perched on the edge of the cot. Twisting his fingers distractedly together.

“The headman was sure that she was affiliated with the kidnappers? It was not... conjecture?”

As he tucks the salves and tinctures back onto their shelves, Sida lets out a snort, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a droll look over his shoulder.

“Would Headman Emex admit it _were_ conjecture, if it were?”

Rost has to concede _that_ particular point, face darkening at the thought of it; Emex’s pride has led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. And yet, the man has learned next to nothing from his mistakes. 

Yet another problem that he’ll have to address... in time. 

Sida’s hand falls back onto his shoulder, refocusing his thoughts on the present.

“You made the right call with the information you were given. And... you were afraid. Your child’s life was under threat. If you erred, it was not your failing.”

When he doesn’t immediately answer, his mate kneels, placing a hand on his other shoulder, brows drawing together in concern as he cranes his neck forward.

“Would it set your mind at ease to go back? Return the body to the earth?”

For a moment, keeping his eyes on his interlaced fingers, he mulls the suggestion over. It’s... not his first instinct, like it is for his Utaru mate. Not when he’s accustomed to hewn markers and cairns of stone. But... the more he considers it, the more the idea appeals. A decent burial is a decent burial, after all. No matter what style it’s performed in.

“It... would. If I’ve made a mistake? Then I owe it to her, as the very least form of recompense. A dark pit cluttered with the remains of a dead past is no fitting resting place for _anyone_.”

With a little nod, Sida moves forward to rest his forehead against Rost’s.

“Then we’ll go. Tomorrow?”

Leaning into the gesture, and closing his eyes, he lets out a hum of assent, managing a weak smile.

“Tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter 5

The world is swaying uncomfortably back and forth when Aloy comes to.

Trying to sit up only makes it worse, and when she moves her legs, one of her feet plunges through the floor into empty air. Scrabbling for balance, her hand brushes against something rubbery, and she snatches at it automatically, curling her fingers around it and holding on for dear life.

It takes some time for the pitching and swaying to subside. But when it does, and she cracks an eye open, the nature of her position immediately becomes clear.

"Cables," she gasps, reaching up to tug gently on the length of the one clasped in her left hand, "they're cables... I'm all tangled up in them."

The precarious swaying makes a _lot_ more sense, now.

Carefully rearranging herself in the nest of wires, she finally manages to sit up for a better look around, dangling her feet over the edge. She hasn't fallen all the way down the pit; the dangling cables are anchored to something on the floor above her that she can't make out, from this distance. The rain, at the very least, has stopped, and a sky filled with stars and rapidly-scudding clouds are visible through the hole in the ceiling above.

“There's so many of them,” she muses out loud, daring to release one hand and trace the pieces with a fingertip, “crossing the space between the floors... was this... all open, originally?"

The more she studies her surroundings, the more the theory makes sense; the unbroken cables all seem to have anchor points on two different sets of floors, ascending and descending in pairs from one to the next. And the floors surrounding the inner space are too even, too rounded, to have been bashed open by falling rock.

“Yeah... that has to be it. A network of cables, crossing the open space, here. And a few of them... broken by falling rock. Or a falling _me_ , after-“

Clamping her jaws around the thought, she cuts herself off sharply, unwilling to finish the thought out loud (a misunderstanding... it _has_ to have been. She _refuses_ to believe that any of her wounds could have been inflicted with _purpose,_ if it really _was_ who she _thinks_ it was.)

Although...

Once again, she turns her eyes upward, toward the edge of the hole, sinking her teeth into her lip as she searches the rim for any signs of her assailant.

_Was it_ **_really_ ** _him? It couldn’t be... not after everything that happened at the Proving. Not when they... buried a body. Not when I visited the grave._

But then... Teersa _had_ said that there wasn’t much left of him. And she’d _like_ to think that she’d know his voice anywhere. Desperately _wants_ to think it, because the alternative is too devastating to even _begin_ to consider.

And if it’s true... if it _was_ really Rost, up there, somehow, then that means...

She recalls the sensation of her spear-blade piercing flesh, carving away at her opponent, she shudders, feeling her stomach go momentarily cold.

“Ok, ok,” she coaches herself softly, flexing her fingers open and shut, open and shut around the wire’s rubbery girth, “enough of that, Aloy. Find a way out, figure out what happened to the children. Then you can worry about chasing ghosts.”

Shuffling carefully across the tangle of cables, and seating herself at the edge of the furthest one, she bends her knees, setting the loop swinging, building up momentum for a leap. When her feet hit the metal of the floor, her left ankle buckles with a sharp zip of pain, and she catches herself just in time on the edge of one of the shelving units, letting out a terse growl.

“ _Ghh!_ Sprained. _Great_. Just the thing when you’re at the bottom of a pit.”

Grumbling to herself, she shuffle-hops inward, away from the dripping edges, until she finds a relatively dry place to lick her wounds. As she binds, salves, pieces herself back together, she takes note of the furnishings on this level. All far more intact. All... _oddly_ specific.

Frowning as she ties off the last bandage, she levers herself up, using the shelves for balance, and peering around at the less-than-orderly rows.

"Shelves. Tables. Cabinets and crates. But... nowhere to sleep. No chairs. What kind of people were working here?"

When she thumbs on her Focus for a closer look, the room stays... surprisingly dark and quiet. No purplish glows from holographic interfaces, no terminals built into any of the tables... just emptiness. Silence. 

"And... no holo-displays, either. What _was_ this place? It doesn’t look like a laboratory... or a dormitory, either. It... looks almost like it was just... made to leave all this raw material in-“

_Raw material..._

The thought strikes a cord, and, flipping open her stored data files, she rifles through them until she finds the one she needs.

_Case in point: the latest draft of your plan for the construction and stocking of bootstrap silos to store raw materials is excellent. This, combined with your design for the AM foundry core and the foundry site selection plan, add up to a comprehensive plan. It's time to start construction._

Closing down the Focus’s interface, she nods to herself, glancing around at the battered shelving units and broken-legged tables with renewed interest.

"Bootstrap silos to store raw materials... this must be one of them. One of HEPHAESTUS's storehouses."

Not the backup server she’s looking for, then. But an interesting place to poke around, nonetheless. Even if most of the materials previously kept here have been used up by now. 

It takes her the better part of the night to find her way back to the top of the silo; limping along, using shelves, walls, and eventually, the snapped leg of a table for support makes for slow going, and several times, she’s hampered by her own curiosity, when something left behind catches her attention.

But, finally, as daylight begins to break over the grasslands, she reaches the top of the ruined stairs, pausing for a moment to let the shudder and shake that her uneven footsteps send through the broken metal die down.

_OK. First thing I need to do is-_

The stairs shudder again, and she grasps for the railing.

_What?_

But she’s not just feeling things; the metal continues to quiver underfoot. And, this time, she can hear the sound of a low, grinding roar. Sinking her teeth into her lip, she scrambles for the top of the stairs and the cave mouth beyond, as quickly as her leg will allow, squinting at the sudden influx of light, and shading her eyes with her hand.

The massive machine plodding its way across the plain is not one she’s seen before; the long neck and stocky body are reminiscent of a Tallneck, in many ways. But the long, lashing tail is tipped with a set of cables, tipped by egg-shaped weights that strike the earth with each swing, leaving small craters in the earth behind it. Spread out on either side of the neck, catching the morning sunlight, two frills, composed of the same materials that make up a Sunwing’s sails, ripple lightly in the breeze. And...

And, hanging from its metal hide in places are long strands of steel chain, tipped with familiar anchors, some of them still attached to pieces of the floor into which they’d previously been sunk. Aloy feels her stomach tighten at the sight, and she shrinks back against the cave’s rocky opening, out of the creature’s direct line of sight.

_The machine from the Cauldron! They must have repaired just enough of it to get it back on its feet again._

Even as she watches, the thing lets out yet another grinding roar, jaws opening slowly. Light begins to pool at the back of its mouth. And then... craning its neck down, and out, it lets loose a concentrated blast of laser fire from between its metal teeth. Aloy reels back a step at the intensity of it, gasping reflexively.

_What the hell!!!_

The beam carves a long trench into the earth ahead of the machine, and the grass around the edges catches fire, the damp stalks curling and smoking, but failing to ignite into a full-fledged wildfire, by the grace of the previous evening’s storm. Unconcerned with the damage, the machine continues its slow advance, pounding its way past the cave opening and onward into the plains beyond.

Hobbling after it, reeling back away out of the range of the whipping tail, Aloy grits her teeth, peering past it, calculating its trajectory in her mind.

“The way it’s going, it... it will reach the village, before too long. They won’t stand a chance. I... won’t catch up to it on foot. Not with my leg like this. But...”

Jamming her fingers into her mouth, and letting out a sharp whistle, she reaches for her bow, and for the red-fletched fire arrows in the quiver at her side.

But that doesn’t mean that she won’t catch up to it, at _all._


	6. Chapter 6

Being left at home does not sit well with Asra.

"The lady was _helping_ us," she exclaims, stomping her little foot and glowering at both of her fathers in turn, "I gotta help her, too! Besides... we both have A names... we're like sisters!"

Rost is not in a good position to argue back. Not with the newly-imparted knowledge of his missteps, and the guilt that they bring eating away at him. And not with Asra in fine form; her rigid stubbornness has always been both a blessing and a curse, making long hours of training easier to bear, but making disagreements hell to get through without long, frustrating arguments.

It's achingly similar to _another_ stubborn, red-haired little girl he once trained... which is far too painful to consider, with her ultimate fate living always in the back of his mind.

Sida is more prepared; leaning down to place a hand on his daughter's shoulder, he gives her a solemn look.

"What will the village do without you here to protect it? We need you to stay here and keep an eye on things. Make sure everyone is safe. Can you do that?"

Asra considers the request for a moment, eyes narrowing as she searches her father's face for signs of deception (all carefully disguised, of course,) before finally nodding.

" _Fine_. But tell her that's why I couldn't come, ok? I don't want her to be worried about me and the others."

Allowing the outer curtain to fall back over the entryway door as Asta scampers off to begin planning her "defenses," Rost shakes his head, pressing a quick kiss to his mate's cheek.

"I'm still not sure what sort of spell you use to smooth her out so quickly."

As he hefts the spade onto his shoulder, Sida lets out a snort.

"I gave birth to the little firecracker. You think I don't know how to handle her, by now?"

For a while, they follow the road in silence, each bound up in their individual thoughts. Finally, Sida reaches out to interlace his fingers through Rost’s. 

"Hey. We've been over this. You were misinformed, and you had stakes in the affair that necessitated action. This is not your failing. Besides-"

Momentarily withdrawing his grip, he gives the strap of his satchel a little shake, setting the jars of ointment and tincture inside rattling.

"-we don't know for sure that the fall was fatal. Either way, we're prepared to make it up to her. You’re setting things _right._ "

The touch is comforting, as always. But this time, it’s not enough to break through the clouds.

"I know. But that-"

The ground jumps, abruptly, rattling underfoot, before falling still, startling the melancholy out of the conversation with jarring abruptness.

"What-!?"

Again, the ground shudders beneath their feet, and then again, like one of the groundshakes that had rattled the Forbidden West during his travels through the region.

But this shaking is far too rhythmic to be natural. Far too periodic. And... it’s accompanied by a thunderous burst of sound, each time.

...like massive feet, striking the earth.

Around the edge of the nearest rock formation comes a nightmare, cast in wire and steel. The sharp-toothed head at the end of the long neck swings down and back, even as the machine itself continues forward, snapping at something smaller that darts around its legs. A Strider, he thinks, based on the shape of it, and the speed of its canter. But...

...but there's something _different_ about the shape of it. Something taller. Something that seems to move independently of the machine's motion, flashing red when it changes directions. And when something streaks through the air above the Strider's back, exploding against the larger machine's side in a burst of flame and shrapnel, it becomes suddenly apparent what he's looking at.

"That machine... has a _rider_ , I think."

Sida is far less calm about the onrushing machines, eyes darting back and forth between the massive, sail-clad creature, and the smaller one, weaving between its legs. Another blast explodes against the large machine’s belly, even as they watch.

"The _Strider_? But... but how would-"

As the long-necked creature turns its head again, a concentrated beam of light blasts out of its open jaws, carving a deep trench into the earth, missing the Strider and its rider by feet. Sida's hand locks around his arm, knuckles white.

"Earth and _sky!!!”_

The Strider stumbles, shuddering from nose to tail, but its rider kicks it into motion again, launching another blast bomb, and guiding their mount away from the larger machine's wildly lashing tail.

Reaching for the bow slung across his shoulders, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder toward the road behind them, and the buildings of the village, just visible on the horizon, Rost grits his teeth.

"This thing's going to run straight into Stonesight if it isn't stopped. The course of action is clear."

Sida knows better than to argue, by now. With one final squeeze, he releases his grip, calling out over his shoulder as he vanishes into the long grass.

"Be careful!"

Nocking three arrows on the string and rattling the ends together, igniting the Blaze capsules wired to the shafts just behind the heads, he draws back the string, and launches his first blow.

\--

The massive machine doesn't seem to be showing any signs of tiring, even after miles of pursuit through the rocky hills.

The same can't be said of Aloy and her mount.

Gritting her teeth as one of the weighted whips at the end of the creature's tail strikes the earth far too close to the Strider's hindquarters for comfort, she leans right, steering back into the relative safety of the space beneath its chassis, pulling back on the cables surrounding her mount’s neck to spill speed, and keep pace with its steps.

The Focus chimes lightly in her ear, and she risks raising a hand to tap the Notifications pane. 

" _Analysis compiling; 75% complete,_ " the mechanical voice demurs politely, and she lets out a hiss of breath, snatching the wires back up in a tight grip.

_At this rate, it's not going to finish before_ **_I'm_ ** _finished._

Wheeling the Strider about, fumbling for another blast bomb, she sets in into the sling, tightening her legs around the machine’s withers and taking a deep breath.

And abruptly, her adversary’s leftmost sail bursts into flame.

The machine rears back its neck, letting out a grinding howl, and swings its head back around toward the road, shaking the scorched remains of the frill away, and letting them flutter to the ground. Another burst of flame erupts around the second sail, even as it begins to scan for its new opponent, and then another. This time, she can pick out the faint streak of a burning arrow, sailing through the air to strike the sail where it meets the neck.

_Someone else is attacking it!_

With the massive legs pounding the earth ahead of her, it’s too hard to catch sight of her newfound ally. But the zip and hiss of flaming arrows continues, and, when she pulls back her sling again, and detonates a bomb against the machine’s underside, it roars in frustration, neck swinging back and forth, unable to focus on assaults from both sides at once with its unwieldly length to contend with.

Despite her exhaustion, Aloy finds herself grinning; _now_ , they’re getting somewhere.

Between the two of them, goading it from opposite ends, they slow its advance to a crawl; for every arrow her unseen ally launches, Aloy stings its haunches with two. For each bomb she lobs at it, the archer batters its head with arrows, keeping it too occupied to repeat its laser blast. Around and around the massive machine spins, groaning and roaring with frustration. 

She doesn’t hear the chime of the Focus in her ear until the mechanical voice actually speaks, startling her out of her battle-trance.

_“Analysis complete; highlighting vulnerabilities.”_

The user interface lights up with purple as the Focus picks out the machine’s weak points; a row of Chillwater cannisters, situated along its back like a ridge of spikes, the massive Sparkers powering the jaw, the capped end of the tail, with its cluster of whips...

...and the leg joints, where they meet with the central chassis. 

_The legs! If I can bomb out the joints, then we can stop this thing from moving! It should be easy prey once we can get it on the ground. I’ll have to go for all four at once, and move fast if I don’t want to get crushed._

Wheeling the Strider about, she checks her supply of bombs, nodding as she fits one of them into the sling, and taking a moment to breathe. To prepare. 

Then, kicking the machine into motion, she raises the sling, and fires, reloading the sling even as the first bomb sails for the gap between undercarriage and leg.

_One. Two._

The machine shudders as its front legs begin to buckle, and she urges more speed out of her mount, swinging the sling up to release yet another volley.

_Three. Fou-_

As she aims the final bomb, the Strider’s foot catches in one of the trenches carved by the machine’s earlier blasts, and it stumbles, flinging her forward over its neck and sending her skidding away over the ground, out of range of her target. Her last blast bomb springs into the air, detonating harmlessly against the creature’s armored underside.

But three legs is enough; even as she tumbles head over heels, out from under the chassis and into the sunshine beyond, she can hear the creak of metal, the groan of stressed joints, and finally, the massive, earth-shaking impact as the machine finally, _finally_ collapses in defeat.

_\--_

For a long while after she comes to a stop, she stays where she is, lying on her back in the grass, staring up at the sky and trying to process all of the dazed thoughts rattling around in her skull.

_How was I not just KILLED!?_ chief among them.

It’s only when the grass shivers with the sound of a body pushing through it that she bothers to prop herself up on her elbows. And then, to vault upright entirely when her visitor comes crashing through the stalks and _freezes_ as their eyes meet.

There's no uncertainty this time. No doubt. Even with new scars licking at the sides of his head and face, and without the blue markings surrounding his right eye, there’s no mistaking him.

Of all things, she finds herself _laughing_ as she tries, and fails, to get her feet under her, the injured ankle still stubbornly refusing to take her weight. Ultimately, she doesn’t need to; in the middle of her third attempt to rise, he’s beside her, wrapping her into a fierce embrace, as if she might vanish into thin air if he doesn’t hold her tightly enough.

It _hurts_ , in places, but she can’t bring herself to care; she’s too busy clinging to him in return. Assuring herself that this is _real_. Laughing, and crying, and murmuring his name over and over again, with fervent relief.

_I was not wrong. I was not wrong at_ **_all._ **

Somewhere in the midst of the embrace, her exhaustion gets the better of her, and, resting her head against his shoulder, she allows herself to drift off.

After all... she can't _think_ of a safer place to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Emex intercepts them on the way back into Stonesight, his face as red with fury as the badge-of-office hanging from around his neck.

"What do you mean," he blusters as he storms his way across the central square, "by bringing the enemy into-"

The look that Rost gives him is enough to freeze the complaints in his throat. He even falls back a step, the rage-flush draining out of his face.

This is the _final_ shard, as far as Rost is concerned. There will be _words_ between them, before the sun sets on the village.

For now, though, his hands are full. Literally.

Turning his back to Emex very pointedly, he stalks off. "We're a little busy," Sida fills in behind him, in a flat, chilly tone that makes it clear just how far his role as the peacemaker really extends, "fixing your mistake."

Heads are beginning to poke out of doorways and around the corners of houses as he passes, murmured exclamations over both his short confrontation with the Headman and the stranger cradled in his arms... reflexively, he clutches her a bit closer, shooting a few well-placed glares to quiet the more vocal speculators as they pass.

_If you wake her, I swear on the shadow of All-Mother..._

Fortunately for the well-being of his neighbors, Aloy doesn’t do more than stir briefly and press herself closer over the course of the walk.

Asra comes bounding to meet them as he shoulders through the front door skidding to a halt as she takes stock of the situation. Rost can already see the hail of questions building up behind her eyes. He cuts them off with a soft admonition, inclining his head toward Aloy.

“ _Shhh_... let her rest, Asra. She needs to rest.”

To her credit, the little girl does immediately become quiet, trotting through the infirmary flap on his heels, and settling in beside the bed that he lower her into, elbows propped on the corners of the mattress. Giving both his child and his mate a solemn nod in turn, he turns back toward the outer door.

"Take care of her. Both of you. I have business with the Headman."

Sida catches his arm on the way out, giving him a meaningful look.

“Do try not to crush his throat, will you?”

Giving him a reassuring little pat on the knuckles and a crooked little half-smile, Rost inclines his head.

“Yes. Though I’ll make no such promises about his _pride_.”

The wicked grin that he gets in response reminds him again in an instant of the many reasons he’d fallen for the healer in the first place.

“I was _hoping_ you’d say that.”

\--

Asra is perched on the edge of her bed when she wakes. The little girl beams as she rubs at her eyes and bites back a yawn, kicking her feet eagerly and setting the grass stuffing of the mattress rustling.

" _Finally_! Papa said not to wake you up, because you needed to rest, but you slept for a _long_ time, and it was _boring_."

The second yawn slips past her defenses, and she grins at the girl as she stretches he jaw back into shape.

"Sorry. Your Papa was right, though; I _did_ need to sleep."

She takes a moment to study her surroundings as Asra chatters eagerly on; partitions of woven grass on either side, stretched between machine-metal framing. Shelves, lined against the far wall, filled with clay jars and bottles, and the odd glass decanter. A mortar and pestle, and dried herbs, scattered across a workbench, and hanging in strings from the rafters.

_Seems like a healer's hall... I guess that makes sense._

Asra taps insistently at her knee, drawing her attention again as she spreads her little hands apart, holding them parallel to each other.

"He said you killed that long machine with the laser! Everyone is bringing back pieces and pieces and pieces. There's a lot of it."

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she sets her feet on the floor, testing the sprained ankle with a little push (still painful... but better. The tight bindings wrapped around it seem to be helping, at least a little bit.)

"How long ago did I take it down?"

Asra kicks off of the bedframe, landing on the floor and bouncing up on the balls of her feet eagerly.

"This morning! It's almost dinnertime, now. You slept through lunch, so I bet you're hungry."

Now that it's been brought up, she realizes that she is; between the fall, the battle with the machine, and her brief time shepherding the children, her last real meal is days behind her, now. A fact that her stomach protests loudly as she nods.

"I _am_ , actually."

At that, the little girl beams, practically vibrating with excitement.

"This way!"

Faster than Aloy can keep up with, she darts around the end of the bed, and out through the woven hanging covering the doorway.

The room on the other side of the flap seems to be the main living space; a low table, surrounded by cushions, is tucked into one corner, and a broad sleeping mat, weighted down with furs and skins, in another. A small stepladder leading to a second, smaller level to the side presumably houses more sleeping quarters, if the furs haphazardly hanging off of the little loft’s edge are anything to go by. At the hearth, a pot shaped from machine plating is bubbling away over a low fire. And stirring it thoughtfully, taking the occasional taste from his spoon, is a man dressed in Utaru garb. One whose face it takes Aloy a moment or two to place.

_Ah! Right... he was with Rost, after the battle, I think...._

Hearing the rustling of the grass he turns, dripping spoon in hand, to give her a pleasant smile and a little nod, brows rising.

"Well! Good... evening, I guess. Please, sit. It's just about ready. How's everything feeling? Anything I need to look at again?"

As she settles herself onto the cushion next to an impatiently-jiggling Asra, Aloy tentatively returns both the smile and the gesture, giving the room a quick scan.

"No, everything feels pretty good, thanks. Is... Rost around here, somewhere?”

The man dunks the spoon back into the pot, giving its contents a little taste, before adding a pinch from a box set on the mantle above.

"Yes. He had business to take care of with Headman Emex... probably about you, to be honest. The man's a _blowhard_ who refuses to admit his wrongs and faults, and this time, he's pushed the wrong person, I think."

Immediately, her mind jumps to the memory of the sour-faced man at the well, and she snorts, drumming her fingers on the tabletop and giving Asra a conspiratorial little look out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh, yes. I've dealt with the sort."

The little girl giggles, pressing her hands to her mouth to stifle the sound, but to no avail; playfully, the wooden spoon comes down on the top of her head in a light, playful swat, and she lets out a shriek of laughter, ducking away under the table and settling into hiding beneath it.

"I'm Sida; Asra's mine by blood, and his by attachment. _Thank you_ for bringing her back to us, by the way. We've been... together, for a couple of years, now. He didn't tell me much... just that he'd raised you, and that you were his."

It's such a typically stoic, _Rost_ thing to say, that she can't help but chuckle a little, even as it tugs at her heartstrings to hear that she'd been called _his_ so openly.

"Yeah. I... was given to him as a child to raise, back in Nora territory. My name is Aloy."

Gesturing thoughtfully with the spoon, Sida gives the name a try, nodding along as he does.

"’Aloy...’ He did say something about an A being lucky to begin a child's name with when he first met Asra. Seems like-"

The flap at the entryway shifts, and all three of them turn their attention to it as a familiar, broad-shouldered figure pushes his way inside. Dropping the spoon back into the pot, Sida crosses to meet him, pausing in mid-kiss to drop a finger to something situated at his chest.

"Is that what I _think_ it is around your neck?"

Pinching the red amulet gingerly between two fingers and holding it away from his chest, as if it's caustic to the touch, Rost pulls a face.

"It is. Unfortunately. I called for No Confidence. Once I brought up my grievance, the others began to list theirs, as well. They saw fit to award me the position, in place of Emex."

With a little chuckle, Sida rises onto his toes to press another kiss to the end of Rost's nose.

"You'll make a _splendid_ Headman. Now, come! Sit! The cooking's done, and I suspect you have some catching up to do with this one."

Aloy is already on her feet and hobbling around the table as Sida inclines his head toward her, a smile blooming on her face. Once again, though, she doesn't get very far before he overtakes her, and swoops her up into a tight embrace, again. For a long moment, neither says anything, wrapped up in each others' presence, breathing in the reality of it all. Rost is the one to finally break the silence with a shuddering sigh.

"I'm so sorry. If I'd known-"

Shaking her head adamantly, she pulls back, taking in every inch of his face, again; the new lines, the lack of paint surrounding his eyes, the burn scars ringing his neck and the sides of his head that weren't there before...

"I know. You'd never have done it if you had. And... neither would I. I'm sorry, too."

She raises a hand tentatively to the scars, and he dips his head, bringing them into the range of her fingers. Just the feel of them is enough to make her heart hurt. To bring the ghost of that terrible day back into the forefront of her mind.

"How did you survive? That explosion, I-I was sure-"

When he straightens back up, shaking his head, she lets him go with some reluctance.

"I don't know. It... threw me clear, I think. You weren't at home, when I finally pulled myself up and made my way back. What I overheard was that... you were gone. And I... assumed..."

Even now, when she's standing in front of him, whole and hale, she can see how the thought pains him. How it must have pained him for years. She intertwines her fingers with his, tightening her grip, and doing her best to call his attention back to the here and now.

"Gone _literally_ ; the Matriarchs made me a Seeker. I tracked down the killers who attacked the Proving, looking for answers, and for vengeance. It went... a lot deeper than I could have imagined."

Now that she's here, that she has his hand in hers, the melancholy is beginning to give way to excitement. To the anticipation of sharing the stories she's been holding in with one of the people she trusts most, holds dearest in this world. She reaches out to take his other hand, giving both of them a little pump.

"You wouldn't _believe_ some of the places I've been. Some of the things I've seen."

Slipping a hand free, he gestures to the table, and to the steaming bowls being set around its edge, two at a time. Four in total.

"Start from the beginning, then. We have all the time you need for the telling."

\--

She stays as long as she can. Long enough for her wounds to heal. Long enough to begin to feel comfortable, living in the house, and enjoying the company of Asra and Sida. Long enough to bask in the glow of Rost's pride when she knocks him off his feet again and again during sparring sessions, conducted this time in the open air, under the light of the sun.

But the backup server is still out there, nestled into the plains somewhere beyond the village. The Zero Dawn system is still falling to ruins, with only her hand to bring it to heel. And she still has a _job_ to do.

The Strider she’s wrangled for the occasion is loaded down with supplies and comforts when she swings herself up onto its back, reaching down to take each of their hands in turn. Rost is the last, and she lets her grip linger a moment longer than the others.

"You're certain you have to go?"

Reluctantly, she lets go, grasping for the cables sprouting from the machine's neck.

“Yes. But I'll come back... whenever I can, and with new stories to tell."

Bouncing up on the balls of her feet, Asra gives an excited little shiver.

"Yeah!!!"

Sida laughs at her antics, ruffling her hair affectionately, and nodding his agreement.

"Well, I don't think there's a way to put it more succinctly than that. We'll keep an eye out and a bed open for you."

Rost favors his little family with a warm smile, before turning it her way and inclining his head in the old familiar gesture of approval.

"Yes. You'll _always_ have a place, here."

The affirmations settle brightly in her chest, and she nods perhaps a bit too quickly to hide the budding dampness at the corners of her eyes.

"Until next time, then."

Kicking the Strider into motion, she urges it through the center of town, past the well and onto the road beyond, throwing one last glance over her shoulder and raising a hand in farewell.

It hurts, a bit, admittedly, leaving them behind, and venturing out onto the lonely road again. But it's not goodbye; it's not the last time she'll see them.

And she's already looking forward to her next visit.


End file.
